


Forget You Love Him

by KeeperSpock



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Dalish Elves, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreaking, No happy endings, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Sad Ending, Smut, Solas (Dragon Age) is Grim and Fatalistic, Stargazing, War, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperSpock/pseuds/KeeperSpock
Summary: A story told in four parts: After their romance ends, Solas and Ellana find themselves alone for the first time in months stranded in the wilderness; they resolve nothing. Ellana is called to fix her mistakes by the new hero. She does with mixed acclaim. The end is not happy.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Original Female Character(s), Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Lavellan & Solas
Kudos: 10





	1. one

**(1)**

“Creators, we are in trouble,” Ellana muttered under her breath. It was loud enough for Solas to hear as he lay nearby in the shallow stream gazing up at the sunset. The sky is the same threatening pink as the inside of a fish belly. 

Her statement wasn’t a surprise. Moments prior to their fall, the two had been attempting to seal a rift in the Graves along with the rest of the party. A snap of a Pride Demon’s chain had smacked her and Solas off the edge of a steep rock face—their fall cushioned by a freshly cast barrier spell. Their bodies, no doubt, would be bruised—but both of them should be grateful to be alive. 

Standing, arms akimbo, Ellana searched her surroundings. It didn’t take her long to get her bearings. She had been staring down the ravine for most of the afternoon. Staring down at the depths to avoid looking at Solas. It had been a few months since he had ended their romance. A mistake, she thought, at first. Only, it wasn’t. 

Solas’ pale and watchful eyes find Ellana's. He was clearly unsure what to do and wobbled as he stood, leaning against a hawthorn staff.

She watched with detached interest as he made a poor attempt to slough off some of the mud that clung to his body. Judging by how cold she felt, Ellana was also covered with the thick silt from the bottom of the pool. Broken splinters of wood next to her revealed that her staff, however, had shattered. For a moment, she considered scooping up the rune that’s dislodged from its center, but the river carried it away before Ellana could reach for it. 

“Are you alright?” Solas asked. It was a gentle question spoken in a gentle voice. It gutted her. 

Ellana patted herself down. Feeling no pain or obviously broken bones, she nodded. Shaken, more from finding herself alone with Solas than hurtling down a ravine. So instead, she asked in return: “What should we do?” 

Ellana should know better, she thinks, than to ask Solas this. After all, she is the Inquisitor. One of—if not the—most powerful figures in all of Thedas. If she weren’t pursuing a more dangerous tyrant, her conquering might be considered unjust. She can’t help asking, however. From the very start, Solas has always known what to do. Volunteered every answer in a steady voice she has come to rely on at the end of the world. 

“It will be dark soon.” he appraised. “I think there is nothing to do but camp until tomorrow.” She saw him reach up over his shoulders to check his pack. It was wet but still there. Ellana hadn’t been carrying anything. She hoped he had some provisions. Her stomach was growling. Had been for most of the afternoon. 

“They’ll send a search party,” Ellana shrugged. It was obvious the Inquisition would set out to find them as soon as possible. A small comfort, if there was any, in her current dilemma. 

“Yes.” Solas agreed, making eye contact with her for the first time in months. “Come, let’s go find shelter.” 

They walked in uncomfortable silence until they happen upon a clearing with a roof-less cabin at its center. Besides the dilapidated structure are a series of clear inland lakes. A strange statue of a wolf, elven-made and ancient, is at the water's edge. Violently worn red streamers decorate its neck. Ellana can’t tell if the statue is smiling or snarling. She supposes it doesn’t matter. 

“This should be safe.” Solas nodded with the type of intuitive assertion Ellana has come to understand as characteristic of him. The turf looks the same to her as any other place. She’s not sure why he can determine any form of specialness but is happy to go along with it, so she might count down the hours until they can begin their long walk back to one of the Inquisition’s camps. 


	2. two

**(2)**

It had been an awkward evening, first Ellana had to ask Solas for a change of clothes—and then to work out the logistics of how they could modestly wash off. 

Solas had taken out his pack and aside from marveling at how well the contents held up in the oiled leather didn’t say much else. They ate a silent meal of cheese and bread around a makeshift fire. Afterward, Solas had wordlessly handed Ellana his bedroll, and then taken the wool blanket for himself, clutching it in his arms before spreading it down on a flat surface of packed dirt. 

Ellana did her best to tend the fire and stare out into the darkness. It was summer, and lazy fireflies gathered in the branches overhead. Solas lay down on the blanket with a soft grunt. His hands folded over his chest. Ellana thought that if he were upset about their predicament he hid it well—his breathing steady and unbothered.

She allowed herself to study his face in close detail for the first time since the ill-fated night he had ended things. His expression is so different now. Content instead of sorrowful. Sometimes he closed his eyes and then opened them slowly as if taking in the world for the first time. 

“Do you want to look with me?” Solas invited her with a wave of his hand. He’s using the old voice. The one he used to speak to her in. Ellana’s heart quickens. She can’t help but move from the fire to the blanket and perch tentatively at the end of it. 

That evening there is no moon to steal light away from the stars. And the night sky is thick with little dots of light that gather almost like droplets of snow. Glittering and worthy of admiration. 

Before their brief romance, Ellana had spent a number of hours learning the stars from Solas—sometimes alone and other times with their companions. He carries a small little pocketbook with him that has all their names and stories. Not that he needs to refer to it. 

“That is an old constellation,” Solas breathes, pointing at a seemingly indistinguishable stretch of tiny beams of light. Ellana blinks trying to decipher the sky from the fireflies, and then all the prisms of reflecting light from the lake and the sky. As far as she can tell there is no horizon. The only sense of place Ellana has is the proximity of their reunited bodies. 

She is so very dizzy being so close to Solas. Had it always been like this? She almost can’t remember, distracted by the once familiar scent of the earthly things he carries around in his pack. Cedar, eucalyptus. and dried elfroot. Ellana can name each ingredient by heart. 

“What is it called?” Ellana responds curiously. Something about it being dark and quiet makes her feel at ease. That is until Solas doesn’t answer. Turning to look instead at Ellana with a painful, remorseful expression—and then back up at the sky. 

Ellana knows she shouldn’t—but like so many other instances in their shared history—can’t help but stretch out next to Solas an arm’s length away. She would give up her title, the lands that come with it, and all the trophies they have accumulated, to bury herself into Solas’ chest again. Instead, she flips over on her side to stare up at the face of the dog statue. 

A soft touch at the edge of her hair makes Ellana shiver. As was her habit, that morning she had braided her hair around the crown of her head, weaving a long blue velvet ribbon into her silver strands. A trifle, really, she had bought from one of the women refugees selling odds and ends on the road. The ribbon tips, which Solas is playing with, are stained with blood now. 

“I think about you,” Solas admits with a tired sigh. “More than I should—all the time.” 

It’s not the apology she hoped for, but it's enough. Ellana reaches her fingers up over her shoulder where she knows she’ll find Solas’. They had shared a tent before. Stolen moments in the dark—but never been this alone, given this much opportunity to touch. She had wished for this exact scenario so many times, sad to realize that her current predicament did not resemble any of those fantasies in any minute detail. 

“Tell me what you think about,” Ellana says, her voice lowering. She leans into Solas’ warmth until she’s flush against him. He doesn’t have to say what he thinks about—at least in part—give his hard length pressed into the small of her back. It’s so effortless to be together in this way.

Solas flips her onto her back towards him and crouches over her. A wild kiss followed. It’s all tongue and teeth, and eventually, their hands slip underneath their loose, matching tunics until they are bare underneath the moonless sky. Animals scatter in the nearby bushes as Ellana moans into Solas' throat. 

Ellana allows Solas to align their hips and push against her. He kisses a line down her core and stops to ask if it's alright to continue as he kisses the inside of her thighs. Ellana says yes, despite knowing that this moment will break her. She’s practically begging, in a voice she doesn’t recognize as her own, for him to keep going. 

Later when Solas presses inside her, Ellana considers telling him that he’s her first—if not her only. Judging by the way he desperately fucks her into exhaustion, she's his last—his fingers digging into her hips as he thrusts into her with a smooth and steady motion she wants to interpret as him giving her everything he can of himself. Even the parts of him she’ll never know. She's happy to take it. 

“You’ll forget about me one day,” He says soon after they finish, their hands are clasped. She knows by the tone he doesn’t wholly believe it. Understands that this is not a reconciliation, even if she didn’t expect it to be at the outset. Whatever comes next, it is not something the bards will sing about gladly. 

“What am I to you?’ She says her cheek resting in the divet between his chin and chest. She’s wondered at it more than once. Wants an answer. Thinks she deserves it after this interlude. 

Solas inhales before whispering the old diminutive into her hair: _ar lath ma vhenan._ Ellana finds some abstraction in the devotion of the title. It means everything and nothing at the same time. She’s not sure, yet if the moniker is cruel or truly a mark of devotion.


	3. three

**(3)**

Ellana still thought of the man she loved as Solas. Fen’Harel was otherwise. 

She killed them both in the end. 

The night before the final invasion, she had wandered around the campsite. She could hear Varric telling tales to nervous recruits—human, qunari, dwarf, and elf. His friend Fenris stuttered beside him. Some of the old companions were already dead. Cullen to a lyrium addiction. Vivienne to the game. Cassandra had sacrificed herself to save a battalion. Josephine was married with children and wanted nothing to do with war. Ellana couldn’t blame her. 

The plan was simple. She and Bull would switch places with the new hero. She’d dress in gold plate mail and a fake arm and then surprise him—if not, Ellana hoped, offer Solas one final chance at redemption. Magic had made both Solas and Fen’Harel. It wouldn’t unmake him. That was the hypothesis Ellana had. At least, the one she had developed at length with Leliana and the new hero. 

“You should know,” Leliana said. “You were close.” 

The new hero had shaken their head in disgust. It was Ellana, after all, that had been complacent enough to allow Fen’Harel to gain all the advantages he now wielded with brutal efficiency. The sky was permanently green now. Red Lyrium overtaking whole towns. Whoever was left to win had gathered in opposition.

A diversion, at least, would allow the former Inquisition to make a formidable stand. 

Bull and her had taken a canoe down the dwindling stream all the way to where the Dread Wolf made camp. The battle had raged for days, and although Solas was a kind commander, he had mistaken the loyalty of too many of his closest spies. After all, they were not of the same world. A fact Ellana regarded with both pity and relief as they betrayed him.

Bull had rushed forward with a battle-ax, and in a quick second, Solas had flicked his fingers, and an eruption of blood spurted throughout the ancient room of old Atlantan. It was enough for Ellana to walk forward and pull off her helmet. 

Solas, now Fen’Harel had stuttered. A momentary freeze so slight, but one Ellana had prepared for with the type of religiosity that an Andrastian cleric couldn’t fathom. She pulled a little black obsidian penknife she tucked inside her sash and jabbed it into Solas’ jugular before he could say a single word. 

A Dalish hunter had told her once that a skilled butcher could cut along a single line of body—humanoid or animal—and the meat would unfurl. She hadn’t believed it until Solas had fallen gasping to the floor. His fingers clutching at the wound. 

Her good hand's fingers dropped the knife and reached out to cup his cheeks on the dirty ground. A momentary rise of his own, in turn, went to touch hers, and she brought them to her lips instead, a pucker, and then his pale blue eyes went dark. 

She hadn’t apologized. Hadn’t needed to. She wasn’t sorry. It wasn’t revenge. Nothing that petty. Mostly, a grim understanding of what had to be done. 

Ellana kneeled there in ruins, waiting for someone to notice. It took hours. Her fingers searched her former lover’s body, looking for what she didn’t know. Tied around the strange wolf-amulet he still wore was a worn velvet ribbon that Ellana recognized with a painful sigh and then a sob. 

Later, Varric and Leliana would stand over Fen’Harel's body. A man, really in the end. This he had explained well enough. The Evanurius—who Ellana now refers to as the lost gods—had risen and fallen. There are still mysteries, but they know enough to know that parts of Fen’Harel were different from the cruel monsters that had jumped down from the sky. 

Ellana liked to think that Solas was a victim of circumstances. At his best, he was mistaken. 

Varric and Leliana argued over what to do with the body. The new hero joined in. Ellana used her last ounce of authority to insist that Solas—for that was the name she used to make the request—be packed in salt and a lead-lined casket. It made sense to her to bury him under the floor of the rotunda in Skyhold. It was his castle, after all, to begin with. He wouldn’t be honored that way, of course, but it wasn’t good to totally dismiss the relevance of the Old Gods. Hadn’t Thedas already learned that lesson?

Whatever his legacy, Solas would continue to shape the stories that came next. Surely, a monument was worthy of that?

**  
  
  
  
**


	4. four

**(4)**

It was Varric’s idea for Ellana to start the vineyard. The soil is amiable. Rich, brown globs that took vines gladly. She likes the harvest most when she participates in crushing grapes beneath her feet, a steady squelching sound that overpowers the ever-present reminder that the next crop will certainly outlive her. 

Her body is brittle. She's tired easily. For a few years after Solas fell, she regained a little energy. It hasn't been the decade she'd hope for, but Ellana is glad for the extra time. She knows by the way it hurts to get out of bed in the morning it will be any day now. 

The idea should trouble her, but it doesn’t. Ellana is stupidly happy to live out her final days in obscurity. A finality that the new hero had been happy to give her—along with the funds to do whatever she wants. There’s a sense of justice to her in disappearing. What remains of the Inquisition would say it is fitting punishment. Mostly, Ellana thinks she deserves the option. 

Only Varric comes to see her now at her plain white plaster house at the edge of an inland forest. She expects it to be too painful for the others. Dorian, once her closest friend, is still angry that it was Ellana there for Bull’s last moments and not him. It's the only thing she regrets. 

Most of the land has been cleared except for the ring of trees around her porch. It had hurt a little to cut down the largest oaks that the elves planted before Halamashiral, but if Ellana’s learned anything in her too-brief life it's that nothing should last forever. 

The past is the past. Her present is a lot easier. Ellana doesn’t do much except trudge along with the vineyard workers and offer her a single hand to assist when and where she can. At night she likes to sit quietly on her porch and watch fireflies gather. Everyone is very polite and giving to her. She tries to make it easy. Easy enough for them to ignore her eccentric habits. 

When no one is watching—or at least politely pretending not to—she goes to sit under a grove of trees still wild. There’s a wolf statue at the center with a familiar, yet distant carved face. Lately, she goes and sits there for more and more of the day. She made a Dalish cairn to mark a spot. A gesture Ellana likes to believe Solas would think differently of now. She suspects only Varric has figured out this one last trick. She hopes her friend knows enough that when the inevitable happens there will be two stacks of rock side-by-side.


End file.
